The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Page 20

  Sam shouted above the crowd. “All right, settle down everyone. It’s time to draw!”

  Chapter 45

  He paced around the bed, how many times he didn’t know. His tiny hands were twiddling behind his back. Lefty’s heart had sunk when he made it back to the Magi Roost. Kam was lying on the kitchen floor, surrounded by many distraught faces. He never imagined such a beautiful woman could have looked so bad before. She was sick, really sick. He thought of the sickness, the desert fever that had overcome him on his way to the City of Three. It was a horrible thing, but it seemed whatever she had was worse.

  All of a sudden, his brief disappearance wasn’t such a big deal, but her survival was. A man, tall and lean, wearing exquisite robes, scooped her up and loaded her into a white carriage. The horses galloped away, leaving him, Georgio and Joline standing in the dust. That had been three days ago, and yesterday Kam had been returned to the Magi Roost where she now lay in her bed. The man who had taken her had brought her back.

  He'd said, “She’ll be fine now. She's exhausted, but the fever is gone.”

  As quickly as the man had come and saved her life, he'd been gone. It was very mysterious, with almost no explanation at all. Georgio kept asking who the man was, but all Joline would say was, "Family." A couple of other hands came by, too, helping Joline keep things in order downstairs. Lefty wondered if they were different, too. They were certainly charming and attractive, as was Kam.

  Her breathing was light, but strong. He could feel the air from her nose as Georgio sat at her bedside rubbing her hand. Her face was frail, her color that of a pale pink rose, and she trembled and moaned from time to time. Lefty took the washcloth from her head, dipped it in a basin of water, wrung it out, and returned it to her head.

  “Do you think she’ll wake up soon?” Georgio said.

  “Ssshh … don’t be so loud. You don’t want to wake her up before she’s ready. Remember what Joline said.”

  “You’re just saying that because you know when she does wake up, you’re gonna get it.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are, too!”

  Kam stirred, brushing the rag from her head.

  “Ssshh!” they both said.

  Kam resumed her slumber, and Lefty tucked more sheets around her.

  Georgio stood up and said, “Come on Lefty, if were gonna stay up all night, we might as well make more coffee.”

  Lefty glanced at Kam, kissed her on the cheek, and followed Georgio from the room, careful to leave a slight crack in the door.

  Georgio was reaching up into the cabinets when Lefty jumped in the way. “I’ll do it. You make too much noise.”

  Lefty felt so guilty. He had started all of this. Kam had worried herself so bad over him she became sick. She had cared for him and he had repaid her with betrayal. He felt a good bit homesick now, not for the forest, but for Bone. Melegal and Venir had protected him there, but it seemed there was only so much Kam could do. Now he was in even deeper trouble.

  “Come on Lefty, it won’t be so bad when she wakes up. Maybe she’ll even have forgotten it all,” Georgio said as he sat the steaming pot of coffee down on the table. “You can have Gillem tell your story for you. She’ll take it well from him. He’s such a nice guy. I’m glad you met him.”

  For three days he had been lying to Georgio, and when Kam awoke he’d have to lie to her, too. Gillem had shown up at the Magi Roost the next day. Lefty had already told Georgio and Joline that he fell asleep on the roof, which was true. Gillem had embellished that version and had them eating out of his hand. He recalled how that subverted conversation went.

  “So I’m up there, just waterin’ the flowers on my roof. You know how those sun daisies get. Stubborn little ladies, they won’t come out if you don’t sprinkle the roots. Ah … where was I … ah yes … the boy. I almost tripped over the tiny fella. Even for a halfling he’s a tiny one, and there ain’t many of us around here to begin with. He certainly wouldn’t be hard to miss.

  So, real careful like I nudge him. BING! He leaps like a fawn on top of the chimney, nearly teeters off, runs the ridge on them long toes and froze. Heh, heh, heh … my ole me, I didn’t know who wuz more surprised to see who. It took a bit of convincing, but he came around. I asked him if he was lost, and he said no. I asked him what he was doing on my roof, and he said he didn’t know. I asked him if he had a home and if he knew how to get there—he told me. I told him I was gonna check it out. I’m glad to see the boy is all right and all.”

  Georgio had sat gawping at the entire lie, but Joline had been less than convinced.

  She said, “It makes no sense, the boy being on your roof and all. Boys get into trouble, any fool knows that. Lefty, I want to know why you wound up there. You better tell me now, that way I can soften the blow when Kam returns.”

  Lefty had been certain his ruse was up then. Gillem laughed at that comment, like an old grandfather tickled at the simple misunderstanding of a grandchild. The halfling man, round face full of a troubadour’s charm, and a voice as warming as a smoldering fire, had taken over.

  “Now Woman, I agree a hundred percent, and as sweet and concerned as you are, let me ask you something. Have you ever seen halfling boys raised before?”

  Joline shook her head no, but her body suggested she wasn’t offended.

  “Perhaps I can explain. Yah see, there’s a reason you’ve never seen or heard of a halfling being raised before. You know why? It’s because they can’t be raised. They raise themselves. Sure, you feed them and clothe them when their wee little, but it ain’t long until they’re on their own, doing their own thing. Whatever their role is, they figure it out.

  “One father might be a blacksmith, but the boy won’t have nothin’ ta do with that, instead he’ll be a farmer, a tailor, or a miscreant. Nay … raising a halfling would be like raising a bee. He’s just gonna be what he’s gonna be, ain’t no changing that. Now this one, he’s hit that age. His curiosity is high, and he does things, goes places, and he doesn’t know why. It’s still gonna take some time for him to figure it out. But don’t get me wrong though, he still needs some mentoring and family, you just can’t force it on him.”

  It all made perfect sense, the nods of Georgio and Joline seemed to confirm that. Joline had even let out a sigh of relief. Even Lefty had been almost convinced, despite knowing that the whole account Gillem had given them was a bald-faced lie. His parents had told him no such thing, and they told him everything. Yet, it seemed only he knew that, and even though he wasn’t sure of it, he was pretty sure Gillem knew it, too. But, he played along.

  Lefty sat swishing the coffee in circles inside his mug. He felt tired, exhausted rather, something he had not ever encountered before. He said, “Georgio, do you miss Bone?

  “Ah, sort of. I mean, I miss Venir and Chongo, and those biscuits Luga made for me. Those were the best! The food here is great, but there’s nothing that compares to ‘The Georgio’.”

  Lefty swore he heard the boy’s tummy rumble.

  “I kinda miss the stables, too for some odd reason,” Georgio said.

  “Do you miss Melegal?”

  “Hah! No way, not that guy.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes … well, mostly yes anyway. He never said anything nice to me, not once. He’d pay me sometimes and steal it back and try to tell me I lost it.”

  “He did not.”

  “Did, too!”

  Lefty put his finger to his lips and said, “Ssshh!”

  “So,” Georgio said, “do you miss Melegal?”

  Lefty shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Why? He’s mean,” Georgio said, slurping his coffee and wiping it on his sleeve.

  “No he isn’t, he just makes things hard on you. It’s for your own good, I think. You just think its mean. I think that’s how he teaches us things.”

  Georgio laughed and took another drink of his coffee.

  “He’s a mean teacher, then. I miss Venir. He’s never mean to me
. He knows how to smile and tell story. He lights up a room. Melegal scares away the fun.”

  Lefty was shaking his head as he said, “See, Venir scares me.”

  “What? That’s silly. You’re scared of everything, Lefty, even your own kind. I see how you look at Gillem. He’s harmless, and you act like he’s a ghost.”

  “I do not. What do you mean?”

  “You bounce on your toes and your eyes dart around. You keep wiping your nose on that handkerchief,” Georgio said as he drained his cup, walked over to the couch, laid down, and yawned. Lefty was stunned at his friend's accurate recount of his nervous actions. If Georgio took notice of such things, then certainly others could detect his nervousness as well. Now he understood what Gillem had meant when he'd said, “You got to act yerself.” It had never made any sense, until now. Now though, the only thing he wanted was for Kam to wake up. He had no one but Georgio now. He wanted to tell him about Gillem and Palos, but Georgio wouldn’t understand, and would certainly tell Kam. He was tempted to shake her and tell her himself. Then he had an idea.

  “I’m gonna check on Kam.”

  Kam was still, breathing her only movement. Lefty ran his little fingers over her hair, and then nudged her shoulder. He did it again, a little harder this time. She didn’t move, resting like a beautiful corpse. He whispered in her ear the whole truth about Gillem and Palos and the pact he had made with them. When he was finished, he felt better. I just hope when she wakes up she doesn’t remember any of that. He turned to walk away and heard a rustle. When he looked back behind him, Kam was sitting up in her bed. He froze. Oh no, I’m gonna get it now!

  Georgio’s curly head raised up then flopped back down in the cushions as he answered with a muffled, “All right.”

  Chapter 46

  Melegal was familiar with every card in the deck, all of which he had no desire to play. Most of them were of a physical nature, as the challenges tended to be brutish games. He could feel the eyes of Jeb and his men on him now, but he kept his eyes in the deck.

  Sam held up a card with the standard of the tavern on one side. They all were like that. Then he turned it around; it was black. He handed it to one of the girls, plain and busty with pigtails. Each other girl picked a card from the deck and held it face-down to her chest. Sam put the remaining cards back in the leather pouch and held out his hand. Each woman set her card face down in his palm. He shuffled them, pudgy hands swift and deft, hard to follow without a trained eye. He fanned the cards out again.

  Sam sauntered among the women as he spoke.

  “Ah … here we are, patrons. The time has come. Each girl shall draw a card and place it on the board. That card represents one of the challenges, BUT the black card represents the woman, as fine she may be, who gets to pick the challenge.” Sam sniffed one trollop's ginger-colored hair, and slapped another on the rump, bringing a squeal of delight. Then he stood out on the end of the stage and faced the challengers.

  “Now men, it’s not too late to back out,” the boos came down like rain, “… but I wouldn’t advise it, cause if ya did, the challenge would be trying to drag your sorry arse out of here!” The patrons let out a roar. Melegal was still, and the thugs just nodded and sneered. “All right then, let the drawing begin.”

  Sam fanned the cards out in his hands. The girls lined up in a row in front of him. The one with the foul mouth and frizzy hair drew first, rubbed it on her breasts and held it up high. It was a picture of the two fencing swords crossed over a bleeding moon.

  “The Quick Fence!” Sam said, to the delight of the crowd as the strumpet set the card along the back board.

  Good, Melegal thought.

  The next girl, tiny as a boy, but saucy as the rest, drew next. The card pictured a bear wrestling an ogre on a pile of bones. The crowd cheered.

  “The Grapple of Giants!”

  Not good.

  The next wench, more comely than the rest, with long legs and lashes, held up the next card. It was black.

  “Ah!” the crowd said, nudging one another and clonking tankards together. It was this woman who would decide the fate of the game.

  “I see Velvet has the controls of your destiny, men. I’d be telling her how ravishing she is if I were you,” Sam said.

  Good. It was the wench from earlier in the day, the one that had sat with him during the encounter with Brak and Vorla. Melegal caught her eye, and she smiled at him, as well as the rest. He had no way of knowing what was on her mind; he just hoped he hadn’t offended her somehow. A vengeful wench could be troublesome if you crossed her one too many times.

  Velvet placed the card on the shelf, bent over, lifted her skirt and got back in line. Shouts and whistles of delight came from the men.

  The next woman, taller than most men, pale as ghost, with the figure of a plank, drew next. She held it up as if the weight of the card was a strain on her arms.

  “Ooooh!” the crowd said.

  It was a picture of a hatchet stuck in a man’s head.

  “Hatchet Catchin’!”

  Not bad either, he thought. Whoever won the flip of a coin got the first toss. It was a game Melegal had only seen one time before. Both men had been drunk, and their misses had ended up in a draw.

  “Two cards left!” cried the barkeep.

  The last woman, rounder than the rest, took it and held it high over her hive of red hair. It pictured a rope tied around the waist of two burly men.

  “The Tug!”

  It was simple game, two men each trying to pull the other from his feet. Balance and power were the keys. Melegal didn’t care for his chances against such heavier foes, but it could be done.

  So far, most of the cards weren’t much in his favor. Most challenges tended to favor more formidable men, but there were some games of skill as well, such as Hand Stabs. It seemed however, most of them were still in the deck.

  “One last card!”

  The last woman took it from her hand, a smile on her face. She held it up revealing a picture of a gauntleted fist smashing a wall of stone.

  A cheer rang out.

  “Iron gloves!”

  Oh great! It was always a crowd favorite and the crowd had a major influence on these sports. There was nothing better than watching two grown beat the crap out of one another with metal gauntlets. Melegal glanced at Jeb, whose arms crossed his chest, head bobbing.

  I’m sure there are other taverns better than this. The Chimera for one, maybe the Dirty Mongoose. His loose neck began to tighten. He found Velvet’s eyes for a fleeting moment, catching Sam whispering harsh words in her ears. She nodded. I need a new body guard.

  “Quiet! Quiet everyone!” Sam said, puffing his cigar. “It’s time to let the Lady Velvet choose.”

  That’s when more chanting began. The desperate and beleaguered faces of the thrill seekers would suffer a whipping in order to see a fight like this.

  “Iron gloves! Iron gloves! Iron gloves!”

  Melegal questioned his judgment. His pride could prove costly, and he knew it. Now that he was a Detective for a Royal House he could have called in favors, but that would compromise his need to operate in the shadows. Instead, he chose to gamble. He had been counting on hand stabs, knife tossing, coin stacking or something of the sort. Not one card seemed to favor his skills. He was pretty sure Sam had a hand in that. Either the barkeep wanted him gone, or the barkeep knew there wouldn’t be much to gain playing the games he normally won. Fat bastard's as crafty as me. He could have used Billip right about now. The archer would have covered his back and purse.

  “Quiet, everyone!” Sam yelled, gesturing the woman’s way.

  A hush came over the crowd as Velvet opened her mouth to speak.

  “I choose … IRON GLOVES!”

  The roars, stomping and clapping began. Chairs and tables were dragged over the planks and in a moment the center of the tavern floor was cleared. Only a circle of crowding bodies remained. An old woman appeared on stage alongside Sam. She held a pair of
bloodstained chainmail and iron plated gauntlets in each unsteady hand.

  “Aye, listen up now. The challengers have a choice. They can name a champion if they like, assuming the champion doesn’t refuse. Now, you man, are you to fight, or is it to be one of your men perhaps?”

  “Nay, I’ll fight for myself,” Jeb said, spitting at Melegal’s feet.

  “You then, vested rogue, do you call on a champion then?”

  He remembered the last time he was in a fist fight. He'd been an urchin on the losing end of a bludgeoning, one of many. It hadn't been long after that when Venir had come around and put an end to all of that. Today, there was no such man to bail him out. It was just another hurdle in a long and dreadful day. He cast a glance into the blood-thirsty crowd and noticed a few new ones had surfaced. Haze, Sis and Frigdah were there, too. He was tempted to call on the big one, Frigdah. I bet she could mop him up. He almost said something, but the drool on her chin and her blood-shot eyes suggested it wasn’t a good idea. Worthless sot.

  “No!”

  “Then it’s time to let the match begin!”

  Melegal and Jeb stepped inside a ring of living inebriated flesh and bone. Sam stood between them.

  “Here are the rules. You can only strike with the gloves and the gloves alone. No knees, elbows, head-butts or tackling. Hands! Nothing else of the sort or you’ll be disqualified. Got it!”

  Both men nodded.

  “As for the gloves, you can use a fist or fingers, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it takes until the other man yields or falls out cold! Shirts off, men! And drop your metal.”

  Melegal rolled his eyes. This was a part he had hoped would be overlooked. He slipped a dozen coins from his purse and shoved them into the hands of a bookie he knew. “On me,” he whispered. The man nodded and disappeared. Haze was by his side now, a concerned look in her eyes as she looked over his shoulder. A cheer rose from the crowd. He turned around.